


Scars

by Jackeline Harkness (Jackeline_Harkness)



Series: Survival [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Relationship Problems, Superhusbands (Marvel), winterbones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackeline_Harkness/pseuds/Jackeline%20Harkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So something weird happened and the first chapter was mutilated when posted. <br/>It's fixed now! Sorry!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Brock

**Author's Note:**

> So something weird happened and the first chapter was mutilated when posted.   
> It's fixed now! Sorry!

**Brock.**

 

Years of conditioning wouldn’t disappear in a matter of weeks, if ever, so Brock didn’t know if he’d ever be able to be openly affectionate with James in front of the others, to kiss him sweetly like the Captain did to Stark, or slap his butt like Stark did to the Captain, or even lean casually against him like Romanoff did with Bruce. He could admit to himself that he longed for contact, though, and he had discovered, with a reasonably small amount of shock, that he was actually able to be affectionate in private.

Afternoon found them watching a movie, leaning against each other on the couch after a simple meal consisting of some weird thing that looked like the love child of a taco and a baguette and had a foreign name he couldn’t remember. Normally, he’d have taken the precaution of learning the name of the thing, since it was delicious, but now that Jarvis could help with that, he hadn’t bothered.

Brock smiled at the action scene on the screen in front of them and all its flashy inaccuracies.

“If only it was that easy,” he commented.

“Hm,” James let out. “It would make us look a lot cooler, at least.”

“You look plenty cool in the field,” Brock said, because it was the truth. As if James’ natural deadly grace wasn’t enough, it was accentuated by the badass-looking metal arm, the sniper rifle and the fucking artistic knife wielding. It was all more than enough to give Brock a hard on.

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” and he didn’t say anymore, because there were fingers sliding under the hem of his t-shirt, and lips against his neck. A little shifting, a tilt of his head, and the lips promptly moved to his mouth. Brock welcomed him, sucking lazily on James’ tongue while trying to map his teeth with his own tongue. Cool metal fingers against his lower back made his skin rise in goosebumps, and the former STRIKE captain moaned into the kiss, tangling his hands in long, messy brown hair.

A flesh hand crept up along his inner thigh, and Brock froze, feeling extremely awkward as he disentangled himself from James. It all usually progressed more slowly, giving him time to slow down and then break apart from him without looking like a cat freaking out.

He stood up, and metal fingers caught his wrist, the grip light enough that he could easily break free if he wanted.

“Brock?”

“I have to…” the look in James’ eyes, still dark with arousal, was a mix of confusion and hurt, and it woke a familiar sensation in his chest, one that he hated. He freed his wrist, but leaned down to press a kiss to James’ lips. He wasn’t rejected, and he was a bit scared of how strong the relief he felt was. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

“Ok,” James said after just an instant of hesitation.

Brock fled the apartment.

The relief he felt at finding Bruce in his lab, with a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other, made the former agent grimace. Despite what he’d told himself, he was letting his guard down, he was getting used to living in the tower. He was even coming to like the place, and the people in it.

Bruce looked up from his book and gave him that smile that was becoming familiar, the one that said he looked like shit and Bruce could sympathize.

Brock went to crumble down on a chair, and Bruce returned to his book, putting the cup down to pass the page. He hadn’t brought any guns with him this time, so he just sat there, staring into space while Bruce read, and that was the reason he liked the guy. He usually cleaned guns or equipment that he didn’t use anymore while Bruce worked or read, and they had indirect conversations like that, but this time he was doing absolutely nothing and there was no mistake that he’d gone there specifically to look for Bruce’s company… and the man didn’t push him.

“I didn’t get into a fight with him,” Brock finally said after a long while, and Bruce only hummed in acknowledgement. “Not exactly.”

“But still something happened,” Bruce said, not rushing at all.

“It’s more like nothing happened,” he said after a little while. “Nothing’s happened.”

Bruce looked at him, inviting, not pressing.

“I know everyone thinks we’re sleeping together, but we’re not. Well, we are sleeping together, in the same bed, but we’re not fucking.”

“That can be a complicated thing.”

“It’s not like we haven’t, before. We used to, when we were together on missions or stuff,” he paused. “Hell, sometimes I barely got any sleep while out on the field.”

“With the way he looks at you, I don’t think it’s him not wanting you anymore.”

Brock shook his head.

“It’s not a matter of _want,_ ” he said. “It’s…”

“Everything else,” Bruce finished for him. And wasn’t it weird that it was Bruce Banner, scientific authority, who understood _him_ , failed terrorist thug?

“It’s how he looks, and who he is… compared to who I am.” And he’d basically admitted that he felt ugly next to James, even if he was not supposed to care about such stupid things… but he’d taken some kind of secret pride in his own tough and sharp appearance, with the scars that came with the trade and all, but the new scars were a whole different level.

The look in Bruce’s eyes said that he understood, but he didn’t say a word about it. Brock was grateful.

“I’ve always been a nerd. Never much to look at, nothing too interesting unless you dig physics and bio-engineering. And then there’s the whole mess with… the other guy,” a pause. “But I guess we’re not really in place to judge what soviet-trained former assassins like.”

Brock chewed on that thought for a bit.

“I guess not,” he finally said. “Who knows how long it might last, though,” because that was another thing. He’d never been anything remarkable, except when he was doing Hydra’s dirty work, and James was… well, he was James. He’d fallen into the darkest abyss, and he’d managed to bounce back up and keep on fighting. Such was James Buchanan Barnes. It couldn’t be that long before he realized that, and when it happened… Brock hadn’t let himself even form the whole thought, but he knew in the core of his bones that when it finally happened, he wouldn’t want to continue living anymore. At some point, he’d broken beyond repair, and survival wasn’t enough anymore.

Bruce shrugged, though, and the calmness he radiated showed that he truly believed what he said.

“Who knows when any of us might die? We don’t exactly lead the safest of lives. That doesn’t mean we should stop living before it happens, or that we should live half lives.”

Brock knew those were Romanoff’s words, but didn’t comment on it.

“Sometimes it feels too good to be true, I guess.”

This time, Bruce laughed.

“Look at our lives, do you really think they’re too good?”

Brock had to smile.

“Housing’s pretty good.”

“That’s Tony and his own issues, for you. Not that I’m complaining,” he said, taking an appreciative look around his lab.

“At least his issues help others.”

Bruce gave him a long look.

“Work it out. You have no say on how others feel about you. And when someone you value thinks you’re worth it… well, protecting _that_ is definitely worth the fight.”

“Why aren’t you the one offering counseling?” Brock asked, half joking.

Bruce snorted.

“Believe me, I’m no good at it. It just so happens that we have a lot in common.”

“Isn’t that ironic?”

“Well, ironic is definitely a word we could use to describe our lives, so, yeah.”

Brock leaned back against the backrest of his chair, thinking on how the fuck to start fixing things.


	2. Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, when I posted the first chapter of this story, a part at the end was cut off, and I didn't realize it until a few hours later when a friend pointed it out. I then edited to correct it, but those who read the first chapter when it was just posted might have missed the last bit of it, so you might want to re-read that. I'm really sorry!  
> Also, thanks a lot for reading this! And please, let me know what you think!

**Bucky.**

 

He knew nobody really got it. Perhaps Steve had started to finally understand, going by the subtle but undeniable change of attitude he’d had towards Brock. Tony seemed to think it was all down to psychological issues and lust, tolerating the former Hydra agent with the attitude of an annoyed cat… it reminded him a little of Howard, so that was probably why a lot of Tony’s attitudes seemed endearing to him and Steve. The rest of the team, though, were only indulging him when they tried to be less unwelcoming, and Bucky could see in all their eyes the same question Steve had asked him before. Why the hell did he like Brock? He couldn’t blame them, not really. Not when they didn’t know Brock beyond what he looked like on Hydra’s files. Even when he’d been working on SHIELD operations, Brock had dealt with a lot of nasty work. Life had never been good to Brock, and he deserved to be cut some slack. He deserved a chance to stop fighting, to just kick back and relax, to let someone care for him for once.

Which was why he enjoyed moments like that so damn much. Brock acted a lot like those wary rescued dogs he’d seen in the shelter with Clint, like he was afraid the new safety was only the calm preceding the storm, unable to relax a single moment. Just like the poor dogs who’d been forced to fight for their owners’ pleasure, once he relaxed, Brock leaned into the simplest touch, soaking up the attention, starved for a little kindness even if he thought it was temporary.

He’d long since stopped paying attention to the movie beyond the flashy explosions, the ridiculous plan and the frankly shameful execution. He had to agree with Brock, though… if things really went so smoothly on the field, life for the likes of them would be a lot easier. He would’ve liked to see Brock like that, too, going on missions that implied stylish clothes, fancy cars, a simple shooting and a clean and frankly sexy cut on the brow. No long days in the middle of nowhere with little water and no toilet, no nasty and sweat-drenched clothes, no freezing nights with a tiny blanket, no fever from infected wounds, no nightmares from doing the work nobody else wanted to do…

Bucky couldn’t stop feeling guilty. He’d had long talks with Steve, Natasha, Sam… and rationally, he knew it hadn’t really been his fault, but he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he should’ve been stronger, that he should’ve resisted the mind wipes and remember who he was earlier. Had he been able to do that, had he been able to escape Hydra before he had, he could’ve helped Steve, could’ve taken Brock and made a run for it, kept him safe from the horrors of underworld war and the influence of Hydra before they beat the youthful spark of idealism into hard gun metal. But he hadn’t. He’d been too weak to be anybody’s hero, so he’d remained another prisoner, another living tool. Now, though, now that they were both finally free, he would take care of him, he’d protect the remaining embers until they could be rekindled back into a blazing fire.

He squeezed Brock against his side, his fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt as he let his head fall to the side, leaving Brock’s neck conveniently close to his lips. He smelled wonderful, like clean sweat and aftershave and those new fancy spray-on deodorants, instead of sickly-sweet and medicines like he had while he was still recovering. Their lips connected, and Bucky shifted to accommodate them as Brock melted against him. He felt their skin heat up, felt Brock’s pulse become faster, and he caressed his leg, up his inner thigh and against his growing erection… and then, he was up, babbling something Bucky couldn’t understand, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the elevator.

“Jarvis? Where’s Brock?”

“Mr. Rumlow is, I believe, headed for Dr. Banner’s lab.”

“Thanks,” he said absentmindedly to the AI, ‘cos he’d be damned if he let his parents’ efforts at educating him go to waste.

“You’re welcome, Sergeant Barnes.”

If Brock was fleeing in search of Bruce, he was definitely in need of alone time. Or Bruce-time, whatever. In any case, it meant Brock wanted to be away from him, because since Bucky was happy that Brock got along with someone in the team, he never interrupted them, and Brock was surely aware of that.

“Where’s Steve?”

“Captain Rogers is currently in the R&D lab.”

With a sigh, Bucky dragged himself up and towards the lab, where he found Steve sitting on the beat up old couch there, sketch pad balanced on one knee and charcoal pencil in hand. Steve looked up from his sketch and smiled at him, and Bucky felt a pang of longing for the old times.

“What’s up?” and the concern in his face was oddly reassuring. Bucky guessed it wasn’t that strange, that after all the changes he’d seen, Steve’s mother-hen tendencies being a constant was rather comforting.

Bucky flopped down on the couch next to him.

“There’s no polite way to say it, so I’ll just say it. Brock won’t sleep with me.”

Steve looked more than surprised.

“I thought…”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“We used to. But I mean, ever since he came to live here. At first he was injured, so it was to be expected; but now? That’s no longer an issue, so I tried… and he turned me down. Multiple times. Today was even more obvious.”

“Well, a lot’s happened as of late and…”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, not even needing Steve to finish to know what he was thinking. “It’s not that. He wanted to, at least physically. But he fled from me when things were… getting there.”

“Have you tried asking him about it?” Steve asked in that tone he used when he already knew the answer.

“No.”

“What do you fear he might say?”

“I don’t know if he’d say it…” he trailed off, and the hand on his shoulder was familiar, comforting. He remembered things now, but a lot of his memories were still jumbled and fragmented, and he couldn’t always trust his memory. One thing he was unsure of was exactly how willing Brock had been when they’d been together.  “What if he doesn’t want to? What if he thinks he has to be with me just to be safe? Just so we don’t turn him to SHIELD? What if he feels like a prisoner… or some kind of sex slave? I would never…”

“At least on that account, you can relax. It’s not that at all.”

“Why? Because I’m awesome?” He said with the sarcasm that always made Steve smile.

“That, too, even if you’re a bit of a jerk. But there’s no way he feels like that. Not with the way he looks at you.”

Bucky looked genuinely surprised at that.

“Like what?”

“A lot like you look at him,” he grinned as a thought occurred to him. “Like you used to look at Suzie Connor when we were in school.”

Bucky laughed. He knew he’d looked like a love-struck idiot back then, and it was honestly impossible to picture Brock ever looking like that for anyone, let alone him.

“What am I supposed to do, Stevie? What if he doesn’t want me? Or if he does, but doesn’t want to be with me, for whatever reason? I’m a fossil, and a lab experiment gone wrong.”

Steve gave him a lopsided smile.

“You know what I think about that, so I won’t say it again. But if you want to work this out, talk to him.”

“He doesn’t like to talk much… makes him uncomfortable, I guess.”

“Nobody said it would be easy, but you need to talk about it. If he tries to flee, corner him. Trust me, it works.”

“Hey!” Tony protested as he crawled out from beneath a car he’d apparently been tinkering with, judging by the motor oil smears. “As cute as it is to hear you talk about your love lives like middle schoolers, it’s another thing when you start discussing what techniques you use on _me_.”

Bucky and Steve stared at Tony, who just stood there, hide gloves smearing machine grease on his clothes as he rested his hands on his hips, the perfect picture of fond, half-joking indignation. Then Bucky turned towards Steve.

“Did you know he was there?”

“I… kind of forgot…” and at least he looked sheepish.

“Well, anyway. If that works on Howie’s kid here…”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that _Howie’s kid_ made a name for himself,” Tony protested.

“Then it’s sure to work with Brock,” he ignored Tony even as he got up. “Starks are a whole level of stubborn all their own.”

“That they are.”

“Why do I allow super-soldiers in my workshop, again? That was a rhetorical question, Jay, don’t say a word.”

“I would never, Sir,” the AI responded.

Since Tony was dangerously close to Steve, and they seemed to attach to each other like two drops of mercury on a bowl whenever they were within a certain range, Bucky all but fled the workshop.

Back in the day, he’d been a charmer, seducing had come as naturally as breathing to him, so it couldn’t be that hard, right?


	3. Scars

**Scars.**

When Brock stepped back into the apartment, Bucky was busy dishing out Thai take out. He turned to look at him over his shoulder and gave him a smile.

“JARVIS said you were coming back. I assumed you’d be hungry by now. I know I am.”

“I could eat,” Brock said, taking a seat.

Brock was tense, obviously waiting for the bomb to drop, but as Bucky just kept acting normal, he relaxed little by little. Afterwards, Bucky pretended to read some old sci-fi paperback, using Brock’s thigh as a pillow while he surfed the internet on a StarkPad, listening to rock music.

A while later, Brock announced that he was going to bed, so Bucky just hummed his assent, shifted to let him get up, and grabbed a cushion to replace Brock’s thigh under his head.

He pretended to read for a few more minutes, listening to Brock brush his teeth and fumble with his cellphone as he plugged it into its charger. And then, Bucky rolled off the couch and walked into the bedroom with all his not-inconsiderable stealth. Brock reacted fast enough to bring both arms up, and Bucky felt a double satisfaction: pride at Brock’s reaction speed, and triumph as he tackled the other man onto the mattress, straddling him to keep him in place. A metal hand pinned both of Brock’s wrists above his head.

“What the fuck, James?” Brock demanded through gritted teeth.

“I want to talk.”

Brock huffed.

“And since when does talking involve tackling someone, you crazy bastard?”

“Since I know you’ll try to run. You’ve been pretty good at running, lately.”

“So talk. Let’s get this over with,” he said with true exasperation in his voice.

Bucky stared at him for a moment before going straight to the point.

“Why won’t you sleep with me?”

Brock didn’t say anything about how they _were_ sleeping together, just not having sex. He was practical like that.

“That’s what this is about? You want to fuck, so you decided you’d just pin me down and go ahead with it?”

Bucky frowned. Brock looked genuinely on the verge of pissed off, which was far from ideal, but they were already there, so the best course of action might be to just soldier through, like he’d done many times in the past when the plan for a mission didn’t go quite as expected.

“Did I do that? Before?”

The question seemed to take Brock by surprise.

“What?”

Bucky tightened his jaws.

“Did I force myself on you? Back when you were barely a fresh recruit? Was that how it started? And then maybe you got used to it, or maybe you were just following orders?”

“Let me go,” Brock said, pulling his arms. Bucky obeyed, and started to get off of Brock, but the former STRIKE captain put his hands on his thighs to keep him where he was. He was grateful when Bucky didn’t flee, even if he couldn’t look him in the eye. “You didn’t. It was me who made it happen.”

“I can’t be sure. But I think I remember you being scared.”

“Of course I was. You scared the shit out of me, even years after the first time. Especially after I saw you in action… but I also got off on how fucking dangerous you were, so…”

Bucky nodded, thinking about it. That, too, was far from ideal, but a lot of things were in his life, so he just accepted it and moved on to the next thing bugging him.

“You’re not a prisoner, Brock.”

The former Hydra agent stared at him in a way that made Bucky wonder.

“Did I say that in something not-English?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I’m still not sure what you mean.”

“You were brought here because of who you are to me. But you don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to. I talked to Steve about it. I don’t think you want to be with Hydra anymore.”

“I don’t,” Brock confirmed, because if nothing else, as a survivalist, fighting for lost causes was simply not his thing.

“You can walk away. Heck, the team will help. I’m not exactly anyone’s favorite right now, but there’s a lot of people in high places that owe the rest of the team big favors. You can go anywhere you like and start over with a clean slate. You don’t have to stay with me for that.”

“Why would you think that I don’t want to stay with you?”

“Because you’ve always done whatever you have to in order to survive, and maybe you think that’s what you have to do to survive this whole mess.”

Brock’s breath caught. He’d never said that aloud, even if it was his view of life. What did it say about him, that the one to see it was the brain-washed assassin out of time?

“I want to. It’s the only thing I’ve wanted in a long time.”

“Then… you want to be with me, but you don’t want me to touch you?”

“No, no. I want you to. But I’m not sure if you…”

“You think I’d ask if I didn’t want you?”

“I know you want me right now,” he rubbed James’ thighs with his hands, more to help ease his own nerves than anything else. “But how long will that last?”

“I don’t…”

“Look at you. You look exactly like you did when those old photos in the museum were taken, you’ll probably look like that forever, and I’ll soon look like your father or something. And then there’s the scars…”

“You’ve always had scars.”

“Not like these,” Brock gestured at his face, marked forever with angry red scars.

Bucky lifted his metal arm, flexing his fingers in front of Brock’s face.

“What about this?”

“That looks honestly badass,” Brock said, grateful for the excuse to look at his hand and not at his face.

Then, Bucky was shifting on top of him, removing his shirt in a single, fluid motion that reminded Brock of large predators.

“What of these?” Bucky asked, his voice gone low as he pointed at the rugged scars on his chest and shoulder, where the metal met his flesh. Brock just looked at the scarred flesh, eyes betraying the whirlwind of thoughts in his head, but didn’t say a word. “You don’t care about scars, Brock. Not that much, at least. So what is it, really?”

The former Hydra agent refused to meet his eyes, still looking at James’ chest as he traced the scars there with his fingers.

“How long will it take you to realize that I’m human trash?” Brock said, and his face had gone horribly neutral.

“You’re not, you…”

“I remember what you said about how it looks on paper. Or the internet, whatever. But everything that’s in the files… it’s nothing compared to reality.”

“I’m well aware of that,” his lopsided smile came out a lot more bitter than usual. “I’m the same as you.”

“No, you’re not, James. You’re a war hero. You saved countless lives, you sacrificed yourself for…”

“And then I killed countless more. I was an assassin, a tool for Hydra, up until the moment when Steve forced to snap me out of it.”

“We’re not the same. You were forced to do it, you were given no choice. It was my choice to join Hydra because I didn’t care what had to be done if it meant that I got something out of it all. I dragged my only friend into Hydra’s deep shit because he trusted me. Now I don’t even know if Jack’s still alive.”

“What you wanted out of it was… something you should’ve had without having to fight for it. And I killed Tony’s parents, you know? I didn’t know Maria, but Howard was my _friend._ ”

Brock scoffed.

“What? We’re keeping score of who’s done the most horrible things now?”

Bucky gave him a crooked smile.

“I’d beat you by a long stretch, kid,” he caressed Brock’s stubbled cheek with his flesh hand. “It was my fault, too. I helped make Hydra as strong as it was, eliminated those that could’ve helped stop them. If they hadn’t grown so much, they wouldn’t have been able to keep recruiting young talent into their ranks.”

Brock opened his mouth to protest, because he knew he’d have made the bad decision of joining Hydra with or without James involved in the whole thing, but James interrupted him before he could start.

“Even before Hydra, back during the war, we did some terrible things. But that’s war in real life. I’d like to have something good in my life, even if I don’t deserve it. Like Steve’s said: after so much crap, we’re allowed to be a little selfish.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be with you. But only if that’s what you want.”

“Can I know why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want me?”

“Mh. That’s actually easy to answer. You’re strong, passionate, and talented; have good aim, never give up, can be real good if you want to… you’re handsome, hot… and watching you fight is damn close to porn.”

Brock snorted. “I can work with that, I think.”

“Good,” Bucky leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Then got off him and made himself comfortable next to him, stealing Brock’s arm to pillow his head on the former agent’s bicep. “And just so you know, I do find you incredibly hot, scars and all. And I know how good you’re in bed. So I hope we can do more than sleep together. Later.”

“Later?”

“Yeah. Emotional crap makes me tired.”

“Yeah,” Brock agreed, but turned his head to receive a kiss that started sweet and quickly turned filthy.


	4. Action movies

**Action movies.**

 

Brock didn’t quite get it. Or more like he did get it, but didn’t want to admit that he did. Because after they’d spilled their guts to each other like a pair of sappy teenage girls, things had actually gotten better. Almost two weeks later, they were still at the exact same spot they’d been before, eating together, working out together, sleeping together, watching ridiculous action movies together… everything, but having sex.

“Because the spot where the sun will be right in your eyes and your target shadowed from view is the best one to take a shot. Besides, the angle is ridiculous. It’s like he’s doing everything a sniper is _not_ supposed to do,” Bucky commented before stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“If it was more accurate, it wouldn’t be fun anymore.”

James shrugged.

“Wouldn’t have minded having a teammate that hot,” Brock said, nodding towards the curvy brunette on the screen.

“Hm,” Bucky let out. And then, out of nowhere, he turned his head and bit Brock’s shoulder, hard. The former STRIKE captain yelped.

“What the fuck?!”

“We ran out of popcorn.”

“So? What the fuck does it…?”

“Do I have your attention now?”

“Well, yes, you son of a bitch!”

“Good,” James said, tossing the empty bowl onto the coffee table. “I’ll have you know, though, that my mother was a proper lady, not like the loose women these days.”

Brock opened his mouth to give him some smart-assed reply, but found his lips covered and his tongue caught between James’ teeth.

By the time James pulled Brock’s shirt off, they were both breathing hard, which was remarkable considering James was a super-soldier and Brock was in top condition.

“Bedroom,” Bucky said, making the word a demand in an attempt to cover the uncertainty.

“Alright,” he agreed, and started to get up, only to find himself hoisted up in James’ arms like he wasn’t over two hundred pounds of solid muscle. If being tossed onto the bed knocked his breath out a little, he chose not to say a thing. Pride was like that.

They laid side by side every night, but Brock found he’d missed this kind of closeness, with their bodies pressing together and hands sliding under clothes before pulling the offending material out of the way. Brock tensed a little when he felt James’ flesh hand against the scars on his torso, but the mouth sucking at his neck demanded his attention. Brock arched his back to let James take his shirt off.

“Alright?” Bucky asked against Brock’s mouth, with his thighs caging Brock’s hips against the mattress and his hands roaming lustful all over his scarred torso.

Brock didn’t answer immediately. He took a moment to look into James’ darkened eyes, at his kiss-reddened lips… and to feel the effects the closeness of their bodies was having on him.

“If it’s alright for you,” he managed.

“More than alright,” James grinned, pure happiness mixing with the hot desire in his eyes. Metal fingers pressed harder against scarred flesh. “So damn hot…” and he bowed his head to suck a bruise on Brock’s collarbone.

Getting rid of the rest of the clothing took longer than it ever had before. Cargo pants and faded jeans joined t-shirts on the bedroom floor, followed by tight boxers and the white briefs that James favored. Bucky wasn’t wearing any shoes, and Brock had kicked his boots off as soon as he’d been able to breathe again after landing on the bed, but he still broke away from James to pull his socks off.

James _pouted_ , and Brock felt his world realign around him, because grown men, especially ones who were deadlier than their weapons,  were not supposed to pout. Not to that effect, at least.

Brock mentally shook himself, feeling like he’d been about to start drooling.

“I’m not gonna fuck you with only socks on,” he said.

“Why not?” and there was that raised eyebrow with the tilted head and the feline smile that made him look so damn much like some of the war-time photos. It made him shiver.

“Not a cheap porno,” he said, and then went to smash his mouth against James’ before he could make another stupid question. Maybe he’d been trying to distract him, and if so, it had worked. He felt James’ hand sliding down his abdomen to wrap around his cock, but his mind was gone the moment he felt fingers through his pubic hair.

They kissed again, deep and urgent enough to make his brain melt, and by the time they parted for breath, Brock panting against James’ mouth, he was hard as steel, and he couldn’t understand how they’d been sharing an apartment and even a bed without being all over each other.

James sat up, his hair a messy curtain that didn’t quite manage to hide the smirk on his reddened lips, and shifted just enough to settle between Brock’s thighs, grabbing his leg and wrapping it around his own shoulder.

Brock closed his eyes. His body shivered as his muscles anticipated the pain he was so familiar with, but at the same time his blood boiled in his veins, needing the sensations of their coupling more than his lungs needed air. The contact, when it came, made him gasp in surprise at the wet, cool sensation, and it made his eyes fly open.

“Is this ok?” and Brock could hear the smirk in the bastard’s voice.

The former STRIKE captain tried to say something, but the Winter Soldier had never bothered with anything to smooth things out, and now his lover was there, gently working him open with generously lubed fingers. An inarticulate sound escaped his throat, and then he had to laugh, because his life was ridiculous. If the sound came out a little shaky, it didn’t matter, because the fucking assassin with the cybernetic arm on top of him was huffing out a laugh, too.

He didn’t continue laughing when James’ blue eyes met his, dark with lust and swarming with a thousand insanely intense emotions. He could acknowledge that’s what they were, and not feel an ounce of shame about it. The eye contact was somehow never broken as they both shifted, until James leaned forward to seal their lips in a kiss.

Brock moved with him, with the desperation of long years of uncertainty, until they were finally as close together as two pieces of molten steel, bodies as close as everything else was. James’ breath came out almost like a sob, and Brock’s hand rose to caress the damp, messy hair, and as the dark brown mane was brushed aside, their eyes locked.

“Aleksei,” he said in a choked gasp, and then realized it didn’t matter if he said it aloud. “Aleksei,” he repeated, loud and intense, half a curse and half a prayer, because it didn’t matter at all if he fucking shouted it.

Understanding sparked in darkened blue eyes, and James’ kiss-swollen lips stretched in a real smile before he moved, resting more of his weight on Brock’s body and capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss. When they moved, they did it together, relishing the knowledge that they could take as long as they wanted, that they didn’t need to be rough and quick in case someone was watching, that they would both remember it, and that there would be a next time if they so wanted.

An eternity later, they laid tangled together on their bed, breathing rough and sweat still rolling down their bodies.

“Thank you,” James said, giving his jaw a lick and then a kiss.

“What for?” Brock petted James’ hair, not caring that he was making it a worse mess than it already was. “You’re the one who saved my life.”

“You saved mine.”

Brock snorted.

“As if you could ever not survive, with or without me.”

There was silence for a while, broken only by the quiet electric hum that was like the Tower’s heartbeat, and their slowly relaxing breathing, and Brock had a moment to realize he didn’t mind James’ hands all over his skin, caressing over ugly scars, old and new.

“I could maybe have survived without you,” the sniper said. “But actual living? I’m not so sure.”

“The fuck do you mean?” he asked, rising on an elbow to frown at him.

“The longer I spent in the ice, the longer without memories coming back… it got harder to remember. But you… you were always there, and forgetting about you got harder. If you hadn’t stuck around, I would have completely forgotten you, I think. I would have lost all my memories of you… and of everything else, most likely.”

“You don’t owe me anything, you know? At that time, I was mostly following orders to take care of Hydra’s most precious weapon.”

“Bullshit,” James said, lazy smile stretching his lips.

Brock almost laughed.

“Bullshit,” he confirmed instead, letting his body collapse back down, half on top of his lover, to hide his stupid grin against Aleksei’s sweaty shoulder.

 

 

 

 [mr1]Me ha gustado esa frase :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods, I had such a hard time writing that last chapter!  
> I knew what I wanted to happen there, and I knew how it had to go... but the right words simply didn't flow. I think I was extra nervous because I wanted it to be romantic, but not overly sweet so it was still congruent with them. I hope you like how it turned out ^^
> 
> I'm still floored at what a good reception this series has got, and infinitely thankful for the kudos and reads and bookmarks and, most especially, for the comments! There are few things that motivate me to write as much as comments do!  
> Thanks so much for reading so far!


End file.
